


i can show you the scars

by mikhailos, ships_to_sail



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Communication, Date Night, Heavy Petting, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans David Rose, Trans Male Character, patrick is Learning, well slight amounts of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22998628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikhailos/pseuds/mikhailos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail
Summary: “Patrick,stop!” David nearly shouts, all but shoving Patrick off of him.Patrick just stands there breathing heavily, his brows starting to furrow with concern.“David I- I’m sorry, is something — did I do something wrong?”“No! Just, no, God, I think… I think we might need to-” David pauses to take a deep inhale, “we should talk before we go any further,” he says, his eyes locked on the cuff of his black waffle knit as it folds over the tip of his thumb.---Or, David learns to overcome his fears and reveal something to Patrick he'd been counting on not dealing with until much later.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 44
Kudos: 268





	1. i admit, i confess, i surrender

**Author's Note:**

> WOW this fic did not want to be written, but we made it happen! Title is from Jacob's Dream by Noah Reid. This is set around 2-3 weeks after Grad Night. This fic has been a long process, but I'm so happy to finally release it into the world. I've been sitting on this idea for about 6 months, but only recently did everything start to come together. Thank you to everyone who has been a cheerleader for this when it was still a seed of an idea, to Julia for letting me ramble to you, and especially to Chelsea for making all of my rambling, my yelling, and my frustration all make sense. You're a fucking gem. Lastly, a ginormous thanks to Dan Levy for creating a world where I may not see myself fully represented, but for still making a place I feel safe and seen. (Plus, it's hard to believe everyone in Schitt's Creek is cis. C'mon.) This fic is a result of both me projecting being trans onto the character I relate to, but also hopefully making some other people feel seen. Enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Patrick, _stop!_ ” David nearly shouts, all but shoving Patrick off of him.
> 
> Patrick just stands there breathing heavily, his brows starting to furrow with concern.
> 
> “David I- I’m sorry, is something — did I do something wrong?”
> 
> “No! Just, no, God, I think… I think we might need to-” David pauses to take a deep inhale, “we should talk before we go any further,” he says, his eyes locked on the cuff of his black waffle knit as it folds over the tip of his thumb.
> 
> \---
> 
> Or, David learns to overcome his fears and reveal something to Patrick he'd been counting on not dealing with until much later.

David spends so long wanting to put his hands on Patrick that, once he’s able to without the pretense of ‘business partner’ to stop him, he freezes. They talk the next day — any time, he’d told Patrick, and he meant it — but there was a small shift in the gravity between them that David was still catching up with. Every time he lets his fingers press into the soft flesh of Patrick’s shoulders, his hands brush across the planes of his upper back, his lips press a gentle kiss to the sweet little stretch of skin over Patrick’s temple or a less gentle to the rough line of his jaw, David feels it. A little tug behind his belly button that anchors him to Patrick at that same time that it drags him towards a future and a truth he’s not sure he’s ready for, even here, even now. 

They’re in the stock room after finishing their closing tasks, and he’s got his thigh slotted between Patrick’s, feeling the full weight of his body, the warmth of his body beneath the rough denim, the length of his dick where it presses against David’s inner thigh. Patrick ruts against him, wild and frantic, and he’s got David’s lower lip between his teeth and a moan rising from the back of David’s throat. David runs his hands across the short peach fuzz on the back of Patrick’s neck, and fights the urge to claw, to claim Patrick as his. He’s chanting ‘slow’ like a mantra and it’s doing fuck-all to help. Patrick’s hands dig into the soft flesh at the curve of David’s hip and, even through the soft layers of sweater, he can feel the insistent need that’s pouring out of Patrick.

“God, David,” Patrick sighs against David’s jaw, pressing against his thigh even harder.

David nods, and groans out another _‘slow’_ , his hands moving to press against the front of Patrick’s shoulders, hoping he starts to get the message. It’s not that David isn’t enjoying Patrick’s enthusiasm, he _very_ much is. However, he knows that they should be taking this slower for Patrick's sake, not to mention a few conversations need to be had. Patrick either doesn’t get it, or ignores it, as he starts to move his hand further in and slightly lower–

“Patrick, _stop!_ ” David nearly shouts, all but shoving Patrick off of him.

Patrick just stands there breathing heavily, his brows starting to furrow with concern.

“David I- I’m sorry, is something — did I do something wrong?”

“No! Just, no, God, I think… I think we might need to-” David pauses to take a deep inhale, “we should talk before we go any further,” he says, his eyes locked on the cuff of his black waffle knit as it folds over the tip of his thumb.

Suddenly the urge to sit and curl into himself is too strong, and David moves quickly to the sofa they’ve recently acquired. He tries not to feel like he’s running away from Patrick, especially when Patrick sits down wordlessly next to him, and lets David take his time before speaking. 

“There’s some things we need to um, discuss, and I've been sort of putting it off? Because I don't want – this hasn't necessarily always gone well with people… in the past.” 

Patrick nods, resting a tentative hand on David’s knee as if to say ‘I’m here for you, I'm not going anywhere’. And, because Patrick is Good, he goes really one step forward and says, "go ahead, David."

David takes another breath before continuing. “I haven't been, um. Completely honest with you, Patrick. Well- no, I haven't like, _lied_ or anything like that,” he rambles, hands flying out in front of him. 

“David, it's okay. Whatever it is, I'm sure we’ll get through it, okay?” Patrick offers gently with a squeeze to David’s knee.

“I'm not," David begins, and once it's out, he can't take the words and shove them deep back down inside so he doesn't have to watch a wave of confusion break across Patrick's face. David plows forward so that Patrick can't say something and blow everything up before David has the chance to. "The reason… I didn't want you to _continue,"_ David raises his eyebrows suggestively, "is that I'm not um. Not," David coughs, like he can force the words out of his throat. He's had to do this before, and it's been scary, but never like this. Because he's never been with Patrick before.

"David," Patrick's voice is painted in the burnished blue of worry and he keeps trying to catch David's eye. "Whatever it is...a size thing, or impotency, or some kind of injury…" his voice trails off and he rubs a hand across the back of his neck, scratching lightly. It makes a faint buzzing sound, and it joins the echo of blood rushing through David's ears until it's all he can focus on. 

"Patrick, I'm trans." He says it like he's dropping a weight.

“Meaning that you’re-” 

“Not biologically male, yeah.” David exhales shakily, too terrified to look up at Patrick, too scared that he’ll leave, he’ll think he's _disgusting_ —

“Okay.” Patrick says it on an exhale, his hand drifting off David’s knee to land cupped in his other palm. He cradles his hands together, intertwining his fingers, and exhales again, puffing out his cheeks and nodding a bit. He seems dazed, and if he hadn’t already said something, David would think Patrick hadn’t heard him.

“Okay?”

Patrick nods again, a rapid bob of his head, but he’s still not looking at David. “Okay. It’s — thank you for telling me that, David. For trusting me with that.”

“That’s it?” David quirks an eyebrow at Patrick, and his voice is sharp enough that it finally forces Patrick to meet his eyes. Patrick’s brow is furrowed, and David has to sit on his hands from reaching out and smoothing down the little crows feet that peppered the outer corners of Patrick’s eyes. 

“Yeah, David. That’s it. You’re trans. And that’s okay.”  
David doesn’t know why this is the reaction that’s bothering him so much. He’s gotten angry, and disgusted, and heartbroken, and once even a punch to the face so hard it left him with a black eye for a month. He’s gotten more positive reactions, people who have earnest and well-intentioned questions that still cut into David in a thousand invisible ways. But he’s never had someone who heard him and said...nothing. Everything? David didn’t know but it was itching at his palms and pressing at the space behind his ears in a way that made him feel like the walls were closing in. 

“What, you don’t care?”

Patrick’s eyes go wide and glassy and his head is shaking before David can even finish getting the words out. He spins to face David brings his hands up like he’s going to cup David’s face before a second before stopping himself, dropping them to the outside of David’s knees instead. “David, _of course_ I care. But it doesn’t — it doesn’t change anything, right? You're still Alexis’s brother, and Moira and Johnny’s son, and some who can’t compromise to save his life, right?”

“Two of those things are, unfortunately, correct.” 

“I didn’t know you were adopted, too,” Patrick teases him gently, drumming his fingers along the outside of David’s kneecap like raindrops. It makes David feel better, the touch and the rhythm and the familiar banter of teasing that forms between them like stepping stones through a river. David tentatively slides his left hand out from underneath himself, lacing his fingers with Patrick’s right hand, smiling as Patrick gives his hand a squeeze. 

“I can’t promise that I’m gonna be perfect with everything. I’m probably going to fuck up and say something wrong, or ask something I shouldn’t, but I want you to correct me, okay? I want you to call me out and teach me the right things to say. I want to do the best I can for you, David.”

Overwhelmed with the sincerity of Patrick’s declaration, David grabs his face, pulling Patrick down on top of him and kisses him deeply. 

“Thank you, Patrick. No one’s – I’ve never-” he attempts, before kissing Patrick again, reaching one hand around to cup the back of his head.

Patrick groans, nodding into the kiss and snaking a hand into David’s hair. David smiles against Patrick’s mouth, hooking an ankle around his as Patrick starts a slow roll of his hips against David’s and gently pulls on his hair so he can get to his neck. It’s David’s turn to moan, choking out a gasp as Patrick _bites_ the juncture between his neck and shoulder, his hips jumping up on their own accord. David grips Patrick’s shirt for dear life as he continues nibbling and sucking what’s sure to be a decently sized hickey into David’s neck, now fully writhing against Patrick’s quickly hardening cock. 

Patrick pauses for a moment to breathe, cupping David’s cheek and rubbing his thumb back and forth against the stubble under his ear. He smiles against his neck, chuckling softly as David whines at the lack of movement, pressing up into Patrick’s groin. 

“Y’know David, you might not have to teach me _too_ much. At least I’m familiar with the hardware,” he says, huffing out a small laugh against David’s neck.

David is quick to pull back, his brows furrowed and a slightly pained look in his eyes. He swallows thickly, shaking his head, gaining composure.

“No. Absolutely not. Okay, rule one. Jokes about genitalia? Not only are they a _huge_ mood killer, but you absolutely _never_ make them to trans people. Okay?”

Patrick runs a hand over his mouth, closing his eyes as he gives a small nod. 

“I understand, David, shit– I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

David lets out a slow breath, nodding, knowing Patrick didn't say it to be hurtful. There's still so much he needs to learn, to _un_ learn, and if David wants this... whatever it is they are to work, he needs to work with Patrick. He sits up a bit, leaning against the arm of the sofa, looking over at Patrick who has situated himself on his knees across from David.

"I think we both need to take a breather, go home, and come back fresh in the morning."

"I think that might be good, yeah," Patrick replies, moving off of the sofa to stand up and re-situate his clothing. "Can we talk tomorrow?"

David smiles, his mouth scrunching to the left side of his face, remembering back to their conversation outside of his motel room nearly 3 weeks ago.

"After 10am, you know the rules."


	2. ignite my circuits and start a flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wouldn't be a fic of mine without thanking [storieswelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storieswelove/pseuds/storieswelove) for their eternal assistance as beta, pocket pal, and general good human person.

David walks into the store at 10 the next morning, a grin slowly blooming across his face as he spots Patrick behind the counter. 

“Morning,” Patrick says softly, offering David a small smile back.

“Good morning,” David pauses as he passes by Patrick and wants to do...something. Squeeze his hip, or brush his fingertips across his shoulder, but he’s got his bag in one hand and something about the moment feels too loaded already, so he settles for a gentle dip of his chin, tucking the corner of his mouth underneath his teeth. “How’s it been so far?” David drops his bag in the back room and takes a moment to breathe through the heat in his face as Patrick answers.

“Mm, slow so far, thankfully.”

“Thankfully? That doesn’t sound too good for business.”

“No, it’s just — listen, Ray’s going to be gone tonight. Poker game at Bob’s. I was thinking…let me make you dinner.” Patrick leans against the counter gently, shoving his fists into his front pockets.

“You don’t have to do that,” David crosses his arms over his chest.

“I know. I  _ don’t  _ have to, but I want to.”

“Oh. I mean. You cook?” David manages to sputter out.

“Yes, David,” Patrick replies with a huff of laughter, “I do, in fact, know how to cook. My mom has a pretty incredible lasagna recipe I think you’d like.”

“I could be… open to that idea. Will there be wine?” David’s voice lifts mock snobbishness, the effect completely ruined as he fails to suppress a smile.

“There will indeed be wine, if that’s the selling point for you.” 

Patrick slowly stalks into David’s space, resting his hands gently on David’s hips.

“Then I guess I can join you for dinner tonight.” David slides his hands up Patrick’s arms to rest on his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him, soft and slowly. Patrick smiles into the kiss briefly, before pulling back and giving David a gentle swat on the ass. 

“We’ve gotta work first, David. Lasagna ingredients don’t pay for themselves.” 

\------------

Patrick is whistling as he moves around the kitchen, tending to the multiple pots and pans he has on the stove. He gently lays down the now-cooled pasta in his baking dish, layering the sauce, meat and cheese mix evenly until he’s got his 6 layers, spreading his custom herb blend over the top layer of sauce with an Emeril-worthy flourish. Moving his hips to the music in his head, he carefully places the dish in the oven, setting the timer, and bops over to where his laptop is sitting on the coffee table in the living room. First, he grabs the remote to turn the TV on and queue up the episode of Pose he’d left off on last night, then pulls up Spotify to search for the song he’d been singing in his head all evening. Patrick grins to himself as the opening chords to “The Bitch Is Back” starts playing, slowly starting to dance around the living room.

_ I was justified when I was five _

_ Raisin' Cain, I spit in your eye _

_ Times are changin' now the poor get fat _

_ But the fever's gonna catch you when the bitch gets back, oh, oh, oh _

Patrick is really getting in the groove, busting out his best air guitar, gearing up for the chorus, so much so that what he completely forgets to prepare for — and thus completely misses — is the sound of the front door opening.

_ I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch oh, the bitch is back _

_ Stone cold sober as a matter of fact _

_ I can bitch, I can bitch 'cause I'm better than you _

_ It's the way that I move, the things that I do, whoa _

He’s full on head-banging, singing along at the top of his lungs, when he turns around and is face-to-face with David, who has one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other hand pressed against his lips, which fold in on each other in a complete shit-eating grin.

“Hi,” is all David gets out, nearly having to shout over the music.

“Shit, fuck, let me just-” Patrick scrambles to turn the volume down, a embarrassed blush starting to bloom on his neck.

David is laughing now, arms crossed over his chest as he leans his back against the door. “I didn't know tonight was going to be dinner  _ and _ a show? I’m honored,” David says, pushing off the door and walking over to Patrick, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waist.

“I, uh, didn’t realize you would be here so soon or I would have-”

“Mm-mm, nope, I loved it,” David cuts him off, pressing a soft kiss to Patrick’s lips. Patrick smiles into the kiss, reaching up to wrap his arms around David’s neck. His hands fall to David’s hips and walks them backwards until they’re pressed against the door. Patrick kisses David slowly, lazily, his thumbs working heavy circle into the jut of David’s hip bones. David’s hands are steady on Patrick’s shoulders, the expanse of his chest warm and firm beneath Patrick as he presses back against the line of Patrick’s body. The Spotify playlist shuffles and Elton is singing about being a sculptor — but then again, no — as the timer goes off on the oven and Patrick finally pulls himself off of David.

“Dinner’s ready,” he says with a little gleam in his eyes.

“Yeah, I gathered that when I got here and it smelled like Del Posto.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he says with a little shake of his head, his eyes too big in his face. “ But I’ll have you know, that’s my Ninny Brewer’s award winning lasagna in the oven right now.”

“And it smells  _ delicious.  _ So much so that we’re going to just skate right over the part where you called her your Ninny Brewer.”

“What do you call your grandparents, David?” Patrick asks as he makes his way back to the kitchen, feeling the appeal of David — the heat of his body, and the way he smells, and the constant, casual way he’s touching Patrick — pull him back like gravity. 

“Um, if I had any I probably would’ve just called them by their names,” David says, making his way into Ray’s kitchen, setting his bag down on one of the four chairs at the dining room table and crossing to the bottle of wine and pair of glasses Patrick’s already got resting on the counter. Patrick scoffs as he pulls a set of plates out of the cabinet with one cabinet, sliding open the drawer at his hip with the other, fishing around for a set of forks. “What?”

“Nothing! I’m just trying to picture baby David running up to his grandma and calling her Marjorie to her face or whatever.”

“My grandmother’s name was Emily,” David replies with an injured sniff as he pours two glasses of wine and carries his and the bottle to the table. 

“And I’m sure she was lovely,” Patrick says, kissing him lightly on the shoulder as he scoots around him with the plates and napkins. Each plate has a sizeable corner piece of lasagna set in the middle, and there’s a bowl of Caesar salad already sitting on the table, cheesy and garlicky and absolutely screaming David’s name. “I just can’t imagine you as a kid with your grandparents is all I meant,” he hedges, pulling out a chair for David before sliding into his own.

“Well, that makes two of us,” David says as he sits, grabbing a fork and taking a giant bite of lasagna before the steam has a chance to clear. He fumbles, and hisses, and grabs for his wine glass while Patrick starts to laugh so hard tears spring out of the corners of his eyes. “Fuck,” David hisses, his cheeks red, but there’s a smile on his face, too, and eventually he’s able to take another bite without it burning the shit out of his mouth. 

Patrick is taking a careful bite of his lasagna, when the playlist shuffles again - the sound of slow plucking of acoustic guitar strings filling the room. David looks up from his plate, cocking a brow, trying to place why this song sounds so familiar. It’s got a melancholy guitar strum, but that’s not what’s making it ping something in the back of his brain. He gets to the line about turpentine, and he feels a lock somewhere click open.

“Patrick —” David starts before cutting himself off, turning in his chair to look at the TV, then back at Patrick, who is now very conspicuously studying a stray drop of wine on the pale wooden table. “What is all of this?” He’s asking like he already knows the answer, the corner of his mouth quirked up into the kind of dimple that only comes out to play when he knows he’s got the drop on Patrick. Patrick hasn’t seen it often, but he spends so much time thinking about David’s face, he feels like he could trace it into the air.

“What do you mean, David?” He smiles and quirks and eyebrow at David. David just makes a little ‘hmm’ as he picks up his wine glass and finishes it. He sets it down with a gentle clink and takes another bite of lasagna. He repeats the cycle again — sip, bite, quirk and eyebrow at Patrick and sit back in his seat. There’s a wire between them, a conversation they’re not having, and it’s stretching tighter and tighter, making Patrick feel itchy under his knuckles and behind his ears. 

“I see you’ve picked up a newfound interest in  _ Pose  _ since the last time I was here — not exactly  _ Ice Road Truckers”  _ David teases. He’d never let Patrick live it down, their first unfortunate poker-night date, in which Patrick had been so desperate for something to fill the silence between dinner and dessert that he’d started his most recently played without actually double-checking what it was. Patrick doesn’t answer, just picks at a whorl in the wood. David does his best to keep his voice level, “that’s a show with an  _ awful _ lot of trans characters, isn’t it?” Like he doesn’t know. 

“Hadn’t noticed,” Patrick says, and Patrick Brewer is a terrible liar, but he keeps talking before David has a chance to follow up. “I read online that Angelica Ross was just out of this world, and I know the last time you were here you’d mentioned wanted to get caught up, so. I thought maybe I could join you.”

“And we can certainly discuss doing that, especially if it means no more ice roads or crab fisherman” He swallows through a lump of emotion in his throat that he can’t put a name too, so he doesn’t bother stopping to try. “But. Patrick — you can’t tell me you just happen to have “Honeybee” all cued up and ready to play, like trans country artists are just, like, part of your normal rotation.”

Patrick’s face falls into something closer to a grimace and he shrugs his shoulders, the tips of his ears going pink. “I may have done a little googling, found a playlist of trans artists. I thought you might like it,” he replies softly.

David nods, a small smile crawling across his face. “Well. That is certainly not  _ nothing. _ ”

“Look, David,” Patrick sits up and does something with his hands that’s kind of a supplication, kind of a shrug of defeat, and it makes something ping in the soft parts of David’s soul that he’s gotten so used to covering with quick wit and self-loathing. “I just. What I said wasn’t cool, and I get that, and I just. I don’t want to fuck this up.” He drops his eyes to his hands and his voice goes so threadbare, David almost misses what he says next. “I really,  _ really  _ don’t want to fuck this up.” 

David doesn’t know what to say, so he kicks out his foot and loops it around Patrick’s calf, running it up and down slowly. He smiles at Patrick, his eyes soft and his face open, and Patrick takes a deep breath, exhaling through his nose. “I’m a take-charge kind of guy, David. And — I want to be supportive of you.”

“I see that,” David says, and it sounds like it should be teasing, but his eyes are serious, and dark, and looking at Patrick in a way that unravels him at the seams. “It’s just — I don’t need a pride parade every time I come over dinner, okay? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything differently than you have been. I just don’t need  _ all this _ ,” he says, motioning with splayed hands.

Patrick nods, giving David a meek smile. “Yeah, I can get that. I’m sorry, David.”

David reaches across the table for Patrick’s hand, and squeezes it, just once, before standing and, hand still wrapped around Patrick’s, walks around the short end of the table and leads him to the sofa. They sit close enough to each other that the fold of the couch cushions and the gentle press of gravity forces them together, touching from shoulder to hip. Patrick pulls their joined hands into his lap and runs his index finger along the edge of David’s 

“I just. David, I've spent so long living in a world where no one — myself included — stopped to think about the ways they divided the world, you know? And — you’ve been so great for me, through all of my…” Patrick coughs and his cheeks go pink, high on the bone, “...my coming out. And I don’t want to ever put you in the spot where something I say ends up up hurting you, and no matter how much I try, I still can’t shake this fear that I’m going to slip up and say something that hurts you, and-” He’s dropped David’s hand and is waving his own through the air, little circular motions that must mirror the chaos in his thought process as he tries to get things lined up enough to explain them to David. 

“Patrick, honey, slow — slow down. I know. I know it’s scary, but. I trust that you are going to try.” David wraps his hand around Patrick’s again, pulling it into his own lap this time, pulling gently on each finger until the knuckles pop. “And, even if — when — you slip up, we  _ will _ stop and talk about it,” David says, nudging Patrick’s shoulder with his own, attempting to bite back a smile. 

“Promise?”

“That you’ll slip up, or that we’ll fix it? Yes.” David feels like a stack of Jenga blocks, and he’s just pulling out pieces by the handful. He fills his voice with a courage and conviction he doesn’t quite feel firm on yet, and feels Patrick’s steady grace meet him where he’s at. 

“Thank you, David. It’s just all so new, you know.”

“I know. This is all,” David gestures between them in a nebulous sort of way, “is all sort of new to me, too. Well, not the being with people part, I’ve been with like, a  _ thousand _ people. But never someone nice. Someone worried about not offending me, or like, hurting my feelings.” He says the words like it’s a foreign concept, and Patrick feels something at the back of his rib cage crack. David finishes with, “so. We’ll figure out. Together,” as he pulls Patrick’s hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across the back of Patrick’s knuckles. 

Patrick grins, letting himself be pulled into David’s lap after a gentle tug, his hips sinking back at the same time that his head tilts forward and he sort of leans into David’s chest, folding into something small, something precious. David runs his hands up and down Patrick’s thighs, dusts his fingers over Patrick’s kneecaps, scratches lightly at the thin expanse of skin that’s become accessible at Patrick’s lower back. That earns him a soft little ‘oh’ that he wants to suck into his mouth and chew on until the morning, so he does it again, and then a third time. He pulls Patrick in tighter to him, which has the double bonus of getting his mouth on Patrick’s neck, and his eyes in range of Patrick’s lower back, which looks beautiful, criss-crossed with a series of deeper pink scratch marks. It makes heat pool in David’s lower belly, and he pulls Patrick’s lip between his teeth. Patrick sighs into David’s mouth, his hips rolling into David’s seemingly of their own accord. Suddenly, Patrick finds himself now under David, who is grinning on top of him.

“This okay?” David asks breathily.

Patrick nods slightly, still in a bit of a daze from David’s constant touching.  “Yes, yeah, it’s good — as long as you're okay?” 

David nods, running his hands over Patrick’s firm chest, letting his thumb graze one of Patrick’s nipples through his shirt. “Mmhm, absolutely.” There’s a hook behind his belly button and, even pressed chest to chest with Patrick, it’s pulling him inexorably closer, like he wants to press them both together until they aren’t two separate, individual people anymore. It’s a deep, overwhelming feeling, and he feels the hiss of  _ ‘too soon’  _ echo out of the back of his brain. He runs from it, runs into the moment, and begins to slide down the front of Patrick’s body, the delicious, low-grade friction just enough to stagger his breathing and make his heart race.

Patrick’s head  _ thunks _ against the back of the couch as David slowly starts maneuvering himself to his knees in front of Patrick. Slowly, David runs his palms over Patrick’s thighs, looking up at Patrick through his lashes. 

“I was thinking. You have done a  _ marvellous _ job showing me how much you care tonight, Patrick. It only feels fair for me to make a similar demonstration, so. Unless you’ve got a problem with it, I’m going to suck you off now.” David shifts to rest his chin on Patrick’s thigh, grinning up at him. 

Still shaking off the fog of being manhandled, Patrick nods his head quickly, swallowing hard. 

“Yeah. Yes. Definitely not a problem.”

David slowly starts palming Patrick’s cock over his jeans, his left hand sliding underneath the layers of sweater and undershirt to scratch down Patrick’s lower belly. Patrick’s breath gets caught in his throat and he makes a delicious little choking sound, pressing his hips into David’s palm for more friction. David smiles where he’s got his face pressed into Patrick’s thigh, popping the button of his jeans and slowly dragging the zipper down. “God, you smell good.” Patrick just laughs, and runs his thumb along the shell of David’s ear. 

He’d gotten a pretty decent idea of Patrick’s size the other day in the stock room, but still lets out a soft ‘ _ oh _ ’ as he tugs Patrick’s jeans and briefs down to his knees to give him full view of Patrick Brewer. He's  _ thick _ , and there's a vein running down the underside that David wants to trace with his tongue. 

David realizes he hasn't said anything and Patrick is looking at him with a face that's full of fire, on the knife's edge of terrifying vulnerability. It's a place David has stood so many times before, and the last thing he wants to do is leave Patrick there any longer than need be. He murmurs something that might be "dear god" and might be "holy shit" or might just be a bunch of low, animalistic moans that he can't stuff down before he mouths softly at Patrick’s base. Patrick just groans in response, his hands in tight fists at his sides. David takes notice, and gently prys open Patrick’s right hand, taking it in his and placing it at the back of his head, holding it there until Patrick takes the hint before dropping his hand onto Patrick’s hip, this thumb pressing against the sharp of his hip bone.

With a breathy ‘ _ fuck _ ’, Patrick tightens his fingers in David’s hair, pulling his head back far enough that he's able to meet David's eyes. David grins, darting his tongue out to swipe at the bead of precome leaking from the tip of Patrick's cock, swallowing and laying his tongue flat against his chin, cocking an eyebrow at Patrick. Patrick looks down at David, his eyes dark and lust-blown, and makes a frustrated little growling sound as he grabs the base of his cock and slaps it against David’s tongue a few times, slowly pulling David’s head forward. David relaxes and stretches his jaw as he takes Patrick deeper, stopping when he feels the head nudge against the back of his throat. He breathes through his nose and focuses on the overwhelming sense of Patrick in his mouth, under his hands, threatening to overwhelm him.

“God,  _ look at you _ ,” Patrick moans, tightening the hand nestled in David’s hair. David pulls against his grip, whining a bit when Patrick keeps him steady. Now that he’s figured out a few ways to pull some truly gorgeous sounds from Patrick, David desperately needs to hear more of them. “You want it?”

David feels tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and maybe it’s the building pressure on his scalp, or the desperation he feels to wrap his lips around Patrick, or the fact that David doesn’t think Patrick’s asking the question David so desperately wants to be answering. Want it? David needs it, all of it, all of him, more and faster than he ever has before, and it pushes the air out his lungs on a cracked, broken, “please.”

Patrick’s smile spreads like honey and his grip in David’s hair relaxes enough that he’s able to lean forward and suck Patrick gently into his mouth, pressing his tongue to the slit as the sharp, salty taste of Patrick blooms across the back of his tongue. Patrick’s other hand drifts down and cups David’s jaw, runs his thumb along the seam where David’s mouth is inching up Patrick’s cock. There’s a sound coming from Patrick, from deep in his chest, and it seems to radiate down and into David, a buzzing that fills his bones and his cells and the core of him until he feels ready to fly off the Earth and the only thing keeping him tethered is Patrick’s hand in his hair, the weight on him on David’s tongue.

David reaches his hand beneath his mouth and lets a long string of saliva fall into his open palm, stretching his lips and bobbing his head, the sound of Patrick’s dick in his throat like water, rushing out of a cave at low tide. It’s filthy, and sloppy, and Patrick loves it. Even more when David’s spit-slicked hand reaches up to cup his balls, rolling them between his fingers, across his palm, tugging on them until Patrick’s hissing and squirming and David can feel the pressure building. There’s this feeling David’s always gotten, taking other people apart with the right combination of hands, mouth, tongue. Like he’s sculpting from raw stone, making something from nothing. But here, with Patrick, it feels like he’s  _ excavating  _ something, gently pulling back the layers of something already there, buried deep and forgotten, or perhaps never known at all. It flips his stomach with nerves, fills his chest with the painful bloom of possibility. 

Patrick let’s go of a guttural, “David,” as his only warning before he’s coming, hot and heavy and thick down David’s throat. David presses his face into Patrick’s crotch and lets go of his balls, bringing that hand to the opposite hip and pressing Patrick into the couch, swallowing around him and slowly, gently pulling himself off of Patrick. 

He pushes himself back into a crouch and carefully, tenderly pulls Patrick’s underwear back up his thighs, tucking his softening dick into the cotton, and following with the jeans. He doesn’t bother with the button or the belt, sort of throwing himself on to the couch next to Patrick with a groan. His knees hurt, and there’s a delicious low-grade throbbing in his jaw. He sinks into the soft cushions and can’t hold back the grin when Patrick’s hand wraps around the back of his neck and pulls him in for a lazy, messy kiss. Patrick licks into his mouth, and David knows he has to taste himself. He makes a little ‘mmm’ noise, and some part of David stores that information away for later. 

“God, David, that was,” Patrick presses a kiss to David’s jaw, dragging his teeth across the sensitive skin, feather light and intimately threatening. “Holy fuck, I didn’t — it’s never,” Patrick hasn’t gotten out a full sentence yet, and he’s moving his lips across David’s neck like he wants to take entire bites out of him. “Can I — I want to,” his hand falls to David’s chest and ghosts across one nipple before moving to the other one, pinching with a pressure that rockets straight through David. He smiles as his eyes roll in his head, but his hand covers Patrick’s, lacing their fingers together and dipping his head until his lips are back on Patrick’s. 

“Not tonight, okay?” David says, his forehead pressed to Patrick’s, their lips ghosting over one another as he presses his eyes together and wills Patrick to understand. Patrick clears his throat. 

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Patrick kisses him again, and again, before moving from his lips and over his cheekbones, his eyelids, the curve of his eyebrow. He ruffles David’s hair and lets his head fall back against the couch again, eyes start to drift closed. David shakes his head, a deep, sleepy kind of satisfaction settling into his bones. He could sleep here. Like this, with Patrick. 

But also, he very much can’t. Because Ray will be home soon, and then his sister will text him in a snit about being able to lock the door, and Stevie will text him something obnoxious and he doesn’t want any of that invading any of this. So he lets a hand fall on Patrick’s knee once, twice, a gentle pat, and his voice is scratchy when he manages to whisper, “drive me home?”

“Wish I didn’t have to,” Patrick says immediately, his voice dreamy, slurred and fuzzy around the edges.

“Me too,” David returns, surprising himself with the vulnerability. “But I don’t think coming home to this would be the best way to make a first impression with Ray.”

“Oh, I don’t know David,” Patrick knocks his knee into David’s. “I think the three stoned voicemails he heard from you already set that ship to sail.”

“Okay, those were not  _ for him _ ,” David says, his voice already perking up in self-defense, but Patrick just chuckles and pulls him in for another kiss.

“And I’m so, so glad they weren’t.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song mentioned is [honeybee, by steam powered giraffe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojYK6CW8gdw) (chapter title is also from said song)! thanks for all the love so far, y'all!


	3. the way that this feels right now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, y'all! To preface this chapter: I want to stress that not every trans person's experience with surgery, sex, and everything in between is the same. What is written in this chapter may not reflect on your or any other trans guy's experience, so I wrote what _I_ am familiar with. And possibly projected a good chunk of my own coming out on David's. With all of that in mind, enjoy the obligatory "night at Stevie's" chapter! Thank you all for your lovely comments so far! This is not beta read, so all mistakes are my own.

“Lock it up, David, lock it up,” Patrick insists, pulling David in for a deep kiss in a last attempt to end _that_ conversation.

It had been quite the whirlwind of an evening, between the unexpected arrival of Jake and the absolute lack of a significant amount of alcohol in Stevie’s freezer, and not for the first time David was more than happy to lock up whatever Patrick wants locked up and throw the fucking key all the way to Elmdale. He’s been surviving off half-hickeys and quiet stockroom dry-humps for long enough he’s starting to forget what real, adult privacy looks like. So when Patrick’s broad hand comes up to cup his face, he does what he’s told and locks the box back up.

David grins against Patrick’s lips, wriggling his arm free from between them to reach up and wrap his arms around Patrick’s neck. Letting out a content hum, Patrick shifts to slip his hands around David’s waist and underneath his sweater, dragging blunt fingernails across the dip of David’s lower back. David arches at the feeling, a low growl bubbling out from deep in his chest as he lays back on the mattress, pulling Patrick down on top of him. Patrick gasps, making quick work of latching his mouth onto David’s neck, right on top of the soft skin hidden behind his ear, sucking a deep burgundy mark into the skin - alternating between laving his tongue smoothly over the bruise and dragging his teeth across it, drinking in the whines slipping from David’s lips.

“Off — can we — off, please?” David gasps, hooking his thumbs into the hems of Patrick’s sweater and undershirt.

“ _Fuck_ , yeah we can do that.” Patrick crosses his hands at the bottom of his sweater, lifting both layers off at once and tossing them in the vague direction of their bags. David watches the way Patrick’s triceps wrap around the back of his arms, the divot that runs down Patrick’s forearms, tapering into wrist bones that seem shockingly thin on such a sturdy person. 

“Can you — I wanna see you too,” Patrick mumbles into David’s neck, his hands sliding underneath the soft cashmere and David stills, slightly, before nodding and sitting up on his elbows. His shoulders roll inward, towards his sternum, and he can feel the muscles in his body contracting, shrinking, as his fingers dig into the sheets. But he exhales through his nose and remembers playlists, and lasagna, and a million tiny kindnesses between then and now, and he forces his body to relax. When he speaks, it’s with a confidence he doesn’t feel, but that at least manages to keep the tremor out of his voice. 

“Mm-hm, yep, absolutely.” Taking care to not stretch the fabric, David gently pulls himself out of his sweater and undershirt, folding them neatly and placing them on the chair next to Stevie’s bed. When he turns back around, Patrick is staring at him almost…well, fondly, if David has to pick a word. But he’s not saying anything, and he’s not moving, and David squeezes his eyes shut as he lies back on the bed, swallowing the words threatening to tumble out of his throat - _‘I can put the shirt back on’, ‘I know they're ugly’, ‘sorry, this was probably a_ mistake _’_. Instead, he takes another deep breath and opens his eyes to find Patrick watching him, waiting. He’s making space for Patrick to try again, and it’s a space he might fall into, and his stomach drops as he hangs over the ledge. 

“Do they, um — can I touch you, David?” Patrick asks softly, his voice nearly a whisper. David slams into the ground on the other side of the ‘what if’ and tucks his lips between his teeth to fight the grin attempting to bloom across his face. His eyelids flutter closed as he nods, and then Patrick’s hands are on his chest, his palms broad and soft and warm.

Patrick leans forward and claims David’s mouth with his, pulling him back into the pile of pillows with a force that squeezes the breath out of David’s lungs. His arms immediately wrap around Patrick’s neck, his fingers finding the longer hairs at the back of his head and wrap into the short auburn locks. He fights the instinct to pull, to turn this moment on its edge, to take away from the sweet, shy way that Patrick’s hands graze across his scars in a pointed opposite to the desperate way he’s licking into David’s mouth.

Patrick’s thumb presses against David’s nipple, the flat of this thumb broad and pushing slightly into David’s chest as he drags it, and David hums and presses into the sensation. It’s not a sharp feeling, but a sort of...building. So Patrick does it again, and a third time, and then his fingers dip and run along the dark purple keloid of scar tissue that sits a few inches under his nipples on either side. Patrick presses his forehead to David’s as he breaks the kiss enough to look down and watch. He’s got his lip between his teeth, and David can’t really see his eyes, but there’s something in the way Patrick’s touching him, soft but not tentative, over and over again along the length of the scar on his left pec. 

“Hey,” David says softly, and Patrick starts a fraction of an inch, like he’d forgotten David was there. Or that David could or would speak. “You okay?” Patrick lifts his chin and meets David’s eyes and opens and closes his mouth several times, which makes David laugh. He presses a kiss to the space between Patrick’s eyes. “It’s fine. You can ask.”

“Did it hurt?” The words are out as soon as David finishes speaking, and there must be pollen in the air because a weird kind of watering immediately fills his eyes. Of course Patrick had questions to ask, and of course the first one had to do with how much pain David had been in. 

“Probably not as bad as you’re imagining. The bruising got pretty bad, but it’s not like a hand or foot or something I used every day. Sleeping was the worst part. Oh, and getting the drains out, that’s an experience I _literally_ wouldn’t wish on even Alexis on her worst days.” Patrick laughs, and David watches the muscles in his shoulders relax. He runs his hands up Patrick’s back and Patrick dips to press a soft kiss to the center of the left scar before his hands start the same movement on the right side. David squirms — he’s always been more ticklish on his right side — which makes Patrick’s hand stop, which is literally not at all what David wanted to have happen. His hand covers Patrick’s and squeezes gently. 

“Why’d you — I mean, how long — I...I don’t know what I mean, actually.”

“Okay,” David says, sitting up a bit against the pillows and running his hands along the top of Patrick’s shoulders. “Do you wanna stop for a sec? Gather your thoughts?” David asks, making little waving gestures with his hands. With a less than steady inhale, Patrick nods, maneuvering himself to sit next to David, who lifts an arm so Patrick can snuggle into his side.

“I — I guess I didn’t realize that I had so many questions? I’m just scared I’m gonna ask the wrong thing” Patrick says, and his voice is...not smaller, but further away, despite how closely he’s pressed to David’s side.

Aimlessly, Patrick finds himself tracing the raised skin under David’s right pectoral with his left hand, shuffling down to comfortably rest his head against David’s chest. David hums, carding his hand through Patrick’s hair slowly, nodding. 

“It’s — it’s normal to have questions, Patrick. Especially when it comes to sex or like, _body_ _things_. And look — tonight can just be talking. Just because I brought my dick tonight doesn’t mean anything has to happen, okay?” Patrick’s eyes go wide, Disney prince wide, and he looks up at David like he’s putting a puzzle together.

“You can do that?” The wonder in his voice makes David laugh, which makes Patrick laugh, and he burrows his face against David’s chest. “Okay, David. But can we, um. Talk with less clothes on? I still want to see you.”

“Of course, honey.” David pulls himself away from Patrick to undo his pants, sliding them off and folding them, tossing them gently over Patrick to land on top of his sweater. Patrick follows suit, but instead tosses his jeans in the same direction (he thinks) he threw his shirt. He can deal with that tomorrow. After they rearrange themselves back into their cuddling position, Patrick can feel the tension dissipate as he feels the warmth of David’s bare skin against his own. 

“When did you know?” Patrick asks in a small voice.

“That I was trans? I think around grade 9 — the absolute _worst_ time to come out, in my opinion. I… didn’t know what it was though, for a while. I’d felt _different_ for a few years before then, but I couldn’t really place it. There’s a joke — that you go through the whole LGBTQ acronym before coming out as trans, and I sort of did, too, until I found out ‘transgender’ was a thing, and everything just kinda fell into place.”

Patrick nods slowly against David’s chest, now running his nails over the thatch of hair covering David’s chest, back and forth as if it were he were raking sand through his own personal zen garden.

“How did it go with your parents?”

“Well, I told Alexis first — she’s the one who went with me to her hairdresser, Paolo, who gave me an at the time very stylish, _very_ short asymmetrical haircut. Then, I just sort of came home and said my name was David and told my parents to deal with it. I started hormones a few weeks after that, thanks to the fabulous therapist I had at the time, and surgery came just after my 18th birthday.”

“Why’d you pick David?”

David’s breath stutters and his heart feels too big in his chest. He’s been asked a million questions, most of them some iteration on the same three or four, with varying degrees of respect. He’s never been asked that one. 

“David slew Goliath. It was my favorite story in Hebrew school. I always kind of thought. If you had to battle the biggest thing you’d ever faced in your life, you could do with a worse name than David.”

“David,” Patrick’s voice is soft, and David sniffs and is suddenly more interested than he’s ever been in the cheap wood beaming in Stevie’s apartment.

“Well. It might also have been because David Emanuel designed Princess Diana’s wedding dress and I got up at, like. 3am to watch that wedding, so.”

Patrick laughs, and shakes his head, and presses a soft kiss to the middle of David’s chest, right between his scars. “I — I can’t even begin to imagine how that must have felt for you, David. What was that like? The surgery? I broke my leg once — not that I’m saying, I just. That must have been intense” 

“Yeah, um,” David pauses to clear his throat a bit, not having thought about this in a long while. “It was like this weight had been lifted off my chest.” David raises an eyebrow at him and dares Patrick to make the joke that’s sitting right in front of him, but Patrick presses his lips together in a smile and just keeps staring at David. Which David hates. Except that he really, really doesn’t. “It was like I was one step closer to feeling _right_. It felt like this whole new world had opened up for me.”

This time, when Patrick looks up at David, he’s got his eyes scrunched shut and his chin pointed at the ceiling. 

“Hey — we can stop, David, if this — ”

“No,” David says, cutting Patrick off, “this is good. You’re good. I just haven’t, um, thought about this in awhile, and it was really emotional at the time. I was thinking about the first time the nurse came in to change my dressings? And looked down and I saw my _flat_ chest for the first time. It was — _fuck_ , saying it was overwhelming feels like a huge understatement,” he says with a wet laugh. Patrick smiles up at him, smoothing his palm over David’s chest.

“I’m so happy you got to experience that, David. Thank you for sharing that with me.” David sits up and forward until he’s able to kiss Patrick softly, who in return, hums happily against David’s lips. As he pulls away, Patrick’s brow furrows slightly, chewing on his lower lip. “Can I — one more? It’s a bit… personal, and I don’t really know how to ask?”

David presses his lips into a line and nods. “As many more questions as you need, and we work through the how to ask part together, right?” David asks, slowly carding his fingers through Patrick’s short curls. 

“Right. Yeah. Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “How — what should I — what do you want me to call your, um. Your genitals.” He forces out the last word and turns beet red and David feels himself flush with equal parts tenderness and terror. 

“Oh,” he says softly. Not that he’s surprised to be asked, necessarily. Just. He’d told Patrick he could ask any question, but that doesn’t mean David’s ready to answer anything he asks, and he suddenly realizes that might not be fair to Patrick. “Um, if you don’t mind, can we table that conversation for another time? I, uh. I don’t think I’m actually ready for that one just quite yet.”

“Of course, David. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, don’t apologize. I should have been clearer that I might not be ready to answer everything tonight, but soon, okay?” David gives Patrick a small smile before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

Patrick shifts a bit to be able to reach David easier, slotting his leg in between David’s as he reaches up to kiss him softly. “Take your time, I’ll be here.”

David groans in response, because of _course_ Patrick would say something sweet like that, and David just has to kiss it away before it consumes him whole. Patrick grins against David’s mouth, dragging himself up just a bit further, his breath hitching at the delicious friction of his half-hard cock against David’s thigh. 

“Any other questions?” David breathes against Patrick’s lips.

“Kiss me?”

As if there’s any other way to answer that question than with an enthusiastic _yes_ , he cups Patrick’s neck and pulls him back down for a searing kiss, all tongues and teeth. Patrick all but whimpers, a reedy sound pulled from high in his throat, grasping on to whatever parts of David he can hold on to. Then, in what feels like a daring act of boldness, Patrick maneuvers himself to straddle David, looking down at him in a silent question. David nods, pulling Patrick’s gorgeous, open, vulnerable face down to his. He wants — needs — to be kissing him, and it has the added benefit of meaning he doesn’t have to drown in the deep wells of empathy Patrick keeps looking at him with. 

Patrick immediately finds the spot behind David’s ear that had pulled such gorgeous sounds from him earlier, nipping and sucking until he’s satisfied with the shade of burgundy on David’s skin. Overwhelmed with the dual sensations of the weight of Patrick holding him down and Patrick’s mouth on his neck, David bucks his hips up into Patrick’s, gasping softly. 

“Yeah?” Patrick asks with a tentative roll of his own hips.

“Yes, god. Yes, _please_.”

“Can — can I see you, David?” he asks again, his voice softer as he slides his hands down David’s torso to hook his thumbs under the waistband of David’s boxer briefs. 

Everything in David’s brain is screaming at him to say no, to protect himself from humiliation, or worse. But in this moment, here with Patrick, he remembers what Alexis told him once about other people not thinking about him the way he’s thinking about him. He highly doubts this is what she meant, but. He thinks maybe it might just apply here, in this moment, this bubble of time that he and Patrick had carved out for themselves in Stevie’s apartment. 

“Yeah,” David all but whispers, lifting his hips for Patrick to easily slide his underwear down and off. He watches as Patrick gently places them on top of the rest of his clothes on Stevie’s chair, his chest feeling too full with affection for such a small gesture. “You too, please?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Patrick smiles, rolling off David for a moment to wiggle out of his briefs and drop them to the floor. It’s awkward, and cumbersome, and it makes David fall 17% more in lo-like with Patrick.

While Patrick is still propped up on his side, David takes the opportunity to push him onto his back, straddling his hips, smirking down at him. Patrick’s eyes go wide for a split second as he hits the mattress before grinning back, wrapping his arms around David’s back, pulling him down for a bruising kiss. David whines into Patrick’s mouth, thrusting his hips into Patrick’s and gasping at the slick feeling of Patrick’s hard cock underneath him. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, pulling back enough to pout at Patrick. “One second, can I just—” David pants, rolling off of Patrick and walking to his overnight bag. After retrieving a condom and the travel bottle of lube, David walks back to the bed and lays down next to Patrick. “Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve had to, like, do the whole sexual _mise en place_ thing. Is this okay?”

“As long as you’re good,” Patrick offers with a little chuckle, his cheeks flushed as he presses a chaste kiss to David’s sternum, who offers a happy ‘hmm’ in return. 

David clambers back on top of Patrick, dropping the condom and lube at his side, sitting a bit further back on Patrick’s thighs to languidly stroke his cock. 

“My turn for a question?” David twists his wrist over the head of Patrick’s dick just to feel his breath catch, grazes his thumbnail gently along the thick vein that runs down the length of Patrick. David doesn’t wait for Patrick to answer before he asks. “Can I ride you?” 

Patrick’s eyes shoot up from where they’re glued to David’s hand on his cock, and his pupils are already blown as he begins to nod fervently. 

“Yeah, David,” he breathes. “God, yes. Please.”

David reaches up to grab the condom, tearing open the metal packet with his teeth and practically leering down at Patrick, who’s giving him this cocked-eyebrow look that lands somewhere between a dare, and fond exasperation. David slowly rolls the condom down Patrick’s cock, and doesn’t miss the way Patrick’s body tenses beneath him at the small plastic click of the lube cap. Patrick groans at the feeling of David’s hand, covered in lube, running slickly from Patrick balls up to the sensitive spot right behind the head of his dick. 

David takes his lube-slicked hand and meets Patrick's eyes. “Watch,” is all he says, and Patrick’s eyes narrow, his lip caught between his teeth — it’s his concentration face, the same one he wears when the books at the store don’t make sense, or he’s trying to decide who to play in his fantastical sportsball club. It means he’s watching, and learning, and it’s a look that burns through David like lightning.

David reaches behind him and runs his index finger around his hole, pressing in gently to the first knuckle before pulling back out and repeating the process two, three, four times before he slides his index finger in to the second knuckle and begins to work his middle finger in alongside it. He bites down on his lip until it hurts, trapping back a whine that’s too far over the border into pathetic as he begins to scissor himself open slowly. He takes longer than he normally would, goes slower than he needs to because he knows Patrick is watching, and even if he can’t see what David’s doing, he’s learning. 

When he’s finally ready — or as ready as he’s willing to be, given the time that’s already passed — David perches himself on his knees over Patrick’s hips, gently grabbing his cock and lining it up with his lube-slicked asshole. Slowly, David lowers himself, his breath hitching at the stretch of muscle around Patrick’s thickness, his hands sliding up to grip at Patrick's shoulders. 

“Holy _shit_ , David, I — you feel —”

“ _Fuck_ you’re big,” is all David can manage to groan, dropping his forehead against Patrick's as their hips finally meet. And — it’s not the smoothest line, or the sweetest, or even the filthiest, but. It’s also not a line, and right now the only thing running through every sense David has is _Patrick._

Patrick chuckles, breathless. “You okay?”

David nods, panting softly, as his hands slowly make their way to Patrick's hair. “Perfect.”

Suddenly, David gives a slow and hard roll of his hips, causing Patrick to arch his back like he's been shocked. 

“ _Fuck_ , David, do that again,” he whines. 

“Do what? This?” David teases, sitting up a bit to grind his hips down again. Patrick nearly _howls_ , his hands flying up to grip at David’s lower back. David grins, reaching back to tug on the underside of Patrick's knees. “Up, please.”

Patrick immediately plants his feet on bed, letting David maneuver them just how he wants. David leans back a bit between Patrick's legs, holding himself up on Patrick's knees and begins a slow and absolutely _filthy_ roll of his hips. 

“God, David, David, _please_ ,” Patrick gasps out before his eyes roll back into his head and his words devolve into a jumbled repetition of God, and David, and pleas in increasing desperation. 

“Fuck, _yeah_ , Patrick.”

David picks up the pace, practically bouncing on Patrick's cock. Patrick lets out a long, deep moan before surging up to wrap his arms around David's upper back, flipping them over in one smooth movement. He looks a little shocked that he’s done it, but. He’s not going to break David, and David doesn’t want him slowing down or backing off a single bit. 

So he digs his nails into Patrick’s upper back as he pants “Oh my _god, fuck_ yes, don’t stop.”

“Yeah? You like that?” Patrick asks as he sets a truly punishing pace with his hips, making David writhe below him. 

“ _Yes_ , _fuck_ . I — _fuck_ , Patrick, touch my cock.” 

“Yeah?” he asks again, his voice softer this time. “You want me to touch your cock, David?” David nods, looking up at Patrick with dark eyes, gripping him tighter. “Show me.”

David gives him another nod, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He lets go of Patrick to slide one hand down his body, peeling one of Patrick’s hands off his hip and pressing his middle and ring fingers together. He moves his grip down to Patrick’s wrist, angling his hand so that the broad pad of his fingers rub against David’s cock, alternating between circling and tugging with his thumb and forefinger. David lets out a broken moan, nearly convulsing with the overwhelming sensation. 

“I've got you.” Patrick says, and David pulls his hand away, pressing his forearm over his eyes and the waves of feeling inside his body threaten to overwhelm him from a thousand different directions. Then, Patrick pauses his hand and hips for a moment, looking up at David with wide eyes. “David, is it okay if I…” He trails off, moving his forefinger to circle gently at David’s entrance. 

David’s breath hitches at the feeling, nodding quickly. “ _Yes_ , Patrick, _please_ ,” he gasps.

Patrick groans, his hips resuming their relentless pace as he presses his first two fingers into David, thrusting them in time with his hips. David cries out, his hips lifting off the bed to try and chase the feeling. 

“Patrick, I’m — I'm close,” 

“ _Fuck_ , yeah, me too. C'mon, come for me, David,” Patrick grits out. 

David _whimpers_ as Patrick drives into him faster, his hand back on David's cock, absolutely unrelenting. He lets go of David’s hip to tangle his fingers in David's hair, and with a sharp tug, David comes with a shout. He turns his head and digs his teeth into Patrick’s wrist as his body clenches around Patrick, who hasn’t let up or shown any signs of slowing. It’s becoming too much for David, too much to feel all at once.

“Patrick, I want you to. To come on me,” David gasps out. 

“Oh, _fuck._ ” Patrick’s chin drops to his chest and his shoulders shake as he pulls out quickly, tugging off the condom and fisting his cock until he’s coming on David’s stomach, a litany of _‘David, David, David’_ tumbling from his lips. He collapses next to David, panting softly as he drapes an arm heavily over David’s chest. “Wow,” he breathes, with a small laugh. 

“Yeah,” David huffs. His chest is heaving and he needs to catch his breath but he also wants to laugh, or maybe cry, or maybe just sort of drift apart at the joints. The air conditioner in Stevie’s apartments kicks on and his voice is so quiet it’s almost lost in the gentle hum. “I, um. Thank you, Patrick.”

Patrick props himself up on his elbow, looking up at David. 

“For what?”

“No one’s ever, y’know,” David starts, before making a noise that sounds a bit like a snort, trapped in the back of his throat, looking up to the ceiling to try and stop the tears before they start. Crying after sex is _extremely_ incorrect. He clears his throat and tries again. “No one’s ever _cared_ that much about how I um, felt? Well — not _felt_ , but like. Been patient. With me. During.”

Patrick can't help but smile sheepishly as he snuggles back down into David’s side. 

“You deserve to be taken care of, David,” he says softly, drawing a finger over David’s chest in a mindless pattern. 

David’s chest heaves slightly under Patrick, followed by a sniffle. “Mmkay, I’m actually allergic to this much sincerity.”

 _“_ Even after sex?”

 _“Especially_ after sex, so. Thank you for that.” 

Patrick chuckles, pressing a kiss to the scar under David’s left pec. “We should probably get cleaned up — I don't think Stevie will appreciate stains on her sheets,” he offers, patting David’s chest softly before sliding off the bed and heading towards the washroom. 

David stays on the bed, dragging his hands down his face, trying to wipe away the smile that doesn't want to leave. He shakes his head, caught up in the thoughts of _‘what did I do to deserve someone like him?’_ — until a warm washcloth lands on his chest. He looks up to see Patrick standing naked at the foot of the bed with a shit-eating grin, arms crossed against his chest. David tucks his lips under his teeth as he slowly cleans off his stomach, dropping the washcloth on the floor and reaching a hand towards Patrick, who takes it and squeezes. David tugs him down to the bed, shifting onto his side away from Patrick, hoping he takes the hint — and does, sidling up behind David and pulling him close to his chest.

“Goodnight, Patrick,” David says softly, lacing his fingers with Patrick’s as they rest against his stomach.

Patrick presses a kiss to the top of David’s head, humming contentedly. “Goodnight, David.”


End file.
